A Very Short 35 Years
by StrawberryComplex
Summary: A remarkably brief look into Medic's personal history and what it has led to regarding his relationship with a certain member of the team.


Life, is an interesting thing. I learned early on that people are born as they are, and can not change, this applies to everyone. Even me.

The day I found out that it applied to me was not a good day, it was the day I realized that I could never ever be myself again. I had to be someone else, I had to hide. I had to hide because should anyone else find out what I was… who I am…

To hide from the Rosa Listen I changed my name, my history, I moved to avoid all connections to my past. It wasn't hard to run like that, I was young then and my parents no longer wanted me anyways. Many felt that I was acting foolishly, that I simply should have left Germany like the others, perhaps they were right. But how could I leave my homeland?

Who I eventually became may not have been far off from who I should have been, my time serving was never unpleasant. I learned a great many things, and most days I could even believe in my lie. I lived then, happier than I ever knew possible. The freedom to research my wildest whims! I am sure you could only imagine how that must have felt, to have the ability to divulge in all my curiosities without question, without opposition, and what's more I was being paid to do it!

Then it ended. And again I was forced to hide, to run, to change who I was. It was much harder than the first time, I was older and, having lost my calling, disconsolate.

For almost a full twenty years I hid, living with various colleagues that had found safety amongst their families. I called them friends then, but I cannot remember meaning it.

Finally I was once again offered a chance to re-live my former glory. Not until after I had been caught, beaten, and subsequently stripped of all dignity of course. Sitting in my tiny cell with a man in the bunk above me (presumably for "crimes" similar to the ones I had been charged with) I figured that I had reached my lowest point, and would never rise again. That was when she entered.

A stronger woman I had never seen, not in size or muscle, but pure energy. The moment she gazed upon my dilapidated form I knew that this woman would have nothing but pure obedience and I was all to willing to give it to her.

"Tomorrow I will choose one of you to work for me. The other will stay. Be prepared, and do not disappoint."

And then she left.

That night I strangled my bunkmate with his own shirtsleeves. At no point did I attempt to play it off as suicide, she had asked to not be disappointed after all…

So here I am now, nowhere near my former glory. Even so this life would be acceptable. I am allowed to indulge myself in research on occasion at least. Being asked to spend most of my time healing this team is almost insulting I will admit.

What makes this place insufferable is my past.

My past came to creep up on me late one night while healing a teammate, his large form was such a curiosity to me. I felt compelled to spend a much longer time examining him than the others, and kept him in the medical ward well after the rest had left. I had almost forgotten that I was human myself before taking off my gloves to better examine a particularly odd muscle. With bare fingers pressing into his warm hard chest a flood of memory washed over me, why I had to run, why I no longer had a name. Not from the times after the war but before it, before it when I could have had a normal life, before it when I thought I could love, before the Nazi party took all that away.

Memories are a horrid thing, they betrayed me that night, as Heavy could clearly see the shock and pain behind my eyes. I had assumed this man was dumb, his massive size however proved to hold a similarly impressive brain. Without me saying a single word he assessed the situation and guessing correctly, discovered the main reason for my sudden discomfort and rapidly left my office.

I had been discovered. After thirty five years of hiding convincingly from even myself, all it took was touching a bare mans chest once, to be discovered.

Every day now I am forced to watch him, heal him, follow him like a trained dog. At night I have to touch him again and again, cutting into his skin, sewing it back up again. All the time he KNOWS, he knows who I am, what I am, even I don't know who I am anymore.

He avoids my eyes now, always looking in another direction. I hate myself for wishing he would look at me again.


End file.
